


A San Fermín pedimos

by Kaleidoscope_Carousel



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 14:02:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1820953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaleidoscope_Carousel/pseuds/Kaleidoscope_Carousel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nyssa and Sara and a world famous cultural festival. Of course, Nyssa's kind of festival involves strenuous physical activity, bulls, and a definite risk of dying. Sara wonders how she gets roped into these things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A San Fermín pedimos

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a line in Frea_O's [Bird School Selfie](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1607375)
> 
> Because this is fiction, I have taken some liberties. It is impossible for anyone to run the full length of the _encierro_ and keep up with, much less stay ahead of, the bulls. But this is a story based on a tv show, based on a series of comic books. Realism is not first priority. I did do research into how the run works, and how the festival goes. If anyone has done it, or knows more about it than I do, please correct me. 
> 
> As always, comments are welcomed with a squeeful happy dance on the part of the author.

“No,” Sara says. “No. Uh uh. No way.” 

“Please, _habibti_ ” Nyssa says. Sara’s glance bounces around the room, landing on the television, the furnishings, anywhere but on the woman currently stretching on the floor, legs out in straddle and elbows on the ground with her chin cradled in her hands. She can feel Nyssa’s gaze on her, picture the way her brown eyes go all shiny when she opens them up wide and looks at Sara with just the smallest pout, just the slightest extension of her lower lip. 

“I said no way.”

“But we are in Pamplona. Our work is finished; we still have another two days before our transport home is arranged. And it’s starting tomorrow. I have always wanted to do this, Sara, please?”

“Do you know how much trouble I’d be in with your father if I let you get trampled?” Sara asks.

“I will not get trampled,” Nyssa says. 

“What if I get trampled?” Sara asks.

Nyssa gives her a look. “I trained you better than that,” she says, pressing through her stretch and up into a handstand. She proceeds to do a set of hand stand push-ups, oblivious to the way Sara can’t help but stare at the spot where her t-shirt has slipped down slightly, revealing her muscular back. Or maybe not so oblivious, as Sara watches Nyssa go from balancing on two hands to just one, allowing the material to slip even further. 

“When you said we’d be spending a few days off here, running with the bulls is not exactly what I had in mind for a Spanish vacation.” She could really use a vacation, too. Her shoulders are still tense, hours after finishing the job. The mark had been easy enough to track down. Almost too easy. But he’d begged. Sara hates it when they beg. Only the anticipation of a sun kissed embrace, and a glass of sangria could wash the taste of disgust out of her mouth.

Nyssa goes back to balancing on two hands, then tucks and rolls out, standing up in one fluid motion and joins Sara where she’s lounging on the bed. Sara stares straight ahead, refusing to look at Nyssa, and studying the same bland landscape painting that seems to hang in every hotel room on every continent, but her eyes flutter closed and she allows her head to fall slightly to the side when she feels Nyssa start pressing warm kisses behind her ear.

“Please?” Nyssa says again, and scrapes her teeth across the shell of Sara’s ear. Sara growls and grabs Nyssa, rolling them both over until they’re in the middle of the bed, and she’s straddling Nyssa who is flat on her back, wrists pinned firmly against the mattress above her head. Sara has seen Nyssa’s face grow cold and hard before taking out a mark, but now it is open and inviting. She’s looking at Sara with a pleading expression—an elite assassin with puppy dog eyes. A woman so deadly shouldn’t be allowed to be so cute, it’s unfair. Nyssa’s lips quirk up in victory.

“Fine,” Sara huffs, “we’ll go running with the bulls tomorrow. But you are _so_ taking me out for a nice dinner after.”

“Agreed,” Nyssa says, her smirk only growing bigger.

“Oh and by the way? I am gonna wipe that smirk right off your face.” Nyssa lifts an eyebrow.

“Is that a challenge?” she asks. Sara just tightens her grip on Nyssa’s wrists, and rolls her hips slightly. Nyssa’s smirk does indeed slip as she takes in a sharp breath at the movement.

“Nope,” Sara says, as she leans in to brush her lips against Nyssa’s, “no challenge at all.”

At about 5:00 the next morning—when Nyssa wakes her up by unceremoniously ripping the covers away—the decision to go along with this crazy scheme does not seem as full of promise as the night before. Sara closes her eyes tightly against the light streaming in from the open curtains. Nyssa, on the other hand, is almost bouncing around the room, utterly too cheerful for this hour of the day.

“Get up, _habibti_ , we must be there early to make sure that we have a place amongst the runners.” Sara grumbles, and covers her face with a pillow, before that too gets tossed across the room.

“Fine, fine, I’m up, see? Getting up,” Sara says as she rolls out of the bed. Nyssa is dressed in comfortable civilian clothing, all white, including a pair of running shoes that Sara’s never seen before. She tosses Sara the same outfit, complete with the red scarf belt that everyone is always wearing in the photos Sara has seen. It’s too early to even try to figure out where Nyssa got hold of those so Sara doesn’t bother, she just dresses quickly in the white t-shirt and pants. Nyssa comes over to her, as she stands after tying her shoes, and drapes a red handkerchief around her neck, knotting it just under her chin.

 _“Que linda, mi amor,”_ she says, before pressing a soft kiss to Sara’s cheek.

 _“Tu también, mi cielo,”_ Sara replies. 

_“¿Lista?”_ Nyssa asks. Sara nods. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” she says.

“Then let us go.”

The walk to the Old Quarter and the beginning of the run takes only a few minutes. They mingle with the dozen or so runners already in place, indistinguishable from the rest in nearly identical outfits of white, cut through with the red of the belt and the handkerchief. Nyssa hands a couple of Euros over to a man selling newspapers, and holds one out for Sara.

“A bit of light reading to keep us entertained?” Sara asks.

“That and we will need them for later,” Nyssa answers, “no weapons in the run, but a distraction is better than nothing if we find it necessary. I highly doubt either of us will find it necessary,” Nyssa adds, when she sees the look on Sara’s face. “We will be fine, _habibti_.”

They find an empty space, near the sidewalk, and sit, Nyssa reading the paper, and Sara cuddling close with her head on Nyssa’s shoulder and her arms wrapped around Nyssa’s arm. Sara watches the people milling about, locals and foreigners alike. There are a few Americans in the crowd, easily picked out by their loud voices and English phrases. There’s one that Sara notices especially, his shaggy blond hair just long enough to fall into his eyes, and he tosses his head back impatiently to get it out of the way. He’s laughing with his buddies, all three of them obviously still celebrating from the night before. There’s a girl with them, too, lanky and brunette. Her arms are crossed over her chest as she rolls her eyes at the boys, but the blond one pulls her close and gives her a kiss that she melts into, before brushing the hair out of his face and mouthing “good luck” to him, then retreating through the crowd.

Sara sighs, a motion that lifts almost her whole body, and she holds tighter to Nyssa’s arm. Nyssa leans over and places a kiss on the top of Sara’s head.

“What is it, love?” she asks.

“Nothing, I just saw a couple who reminded me of some people I used to know.”

“Perhaps of yourself in another time?”

“No,” Sara says, shaking her head, “definitely not me. It doesn’t matter anyway; the past no longer exists, right? There is only now, and what we make of it.”

“So you _have_ been paying attention to the tenets of the League. Here I thought you only came to meetings to keep me company,” Nyssa says, and Sara gives her a brief kiss.

“Well, keeping you company makes those gatherings infinitely more bearable. I know he’s your father’s right hand man, but Al-Owal just never stops talking. It’s exhausting.”

“I will make sure never to tell him you said that, but mostly because I am in accord with you.” Nyssa pauses, and glances up at the sky. “It is almost time,” she says. And it is.

The crowd that has previously been milling about aimlessly is now buzzing with an undercurrent of anticipation. People are stretching, warming up, as the clock ticks down towards eight am. Nyssa stands and offers Sara her hand. Sara grabs it and stands, too, then they both run through their warm up and stretches. The street is almost full, now, with people wearing the red and white of the San Fermin festival. The police officers, inspecting the course, stand out even more in their black and fluorescent yellow uniforms.

At 7:55 a shift runs through the crowd as people turn to a statue standing in a niche carved into one of the walls. Sara follows Nyssa’s lead and turns, too, rolled up newspaper lifted over her head as the crowd begins to chant.

_"A San Fermín pedimos, por ser nuestro patrón, nos guíe en el encierro dándonos su bendición"_

Twice more the crowd chants, and Sara is caught up in the moment, yelling as loud as anybody else. She catches Nyssa’s eye, and there is a wide grin spread across her lover’s face. She reaches out and grabs Sara’s wrist.

“When the rocket goes off, wait just a moment, wait until you can hear them coming,” she says. Sara nods, just in time for the first rocket to explode into the morning air. The bulls have been set loose.

The second rocket announces the last of them have left their pen, but still Sara hesitates, Nyssa’s hand still on her wrist, until the very last moment, when she hears the thundering of hooves on the cobblestones. It takes her a millisecond to realise that, yes, those are hooves, and not the frantic beating of her heart, but when she does her legs carry her away faster than they’ve ever done before. 

Beside her, Nyssa is running too, hair blowing back from her face with the speed of the run. The hundreds of people running beside them don’t phase Nyssa one bit, and she flows between them like sand through a sieve. 

The man directly in front of Sara goes down hard, and she jumps over him, only to have to duck to avoid an elbow to the face. It’s like a fight, and as scared as she was before, Sara knows how to handle herself in a fight. She weaves through the crowd, the clatter of the bulls’ hooves getting louder all the time, until they are all she can hear, but by this time her adrenaline is up, and she lets out a whoop. Nyssa, slightly ahead, looks back and laughs, a laugh that is deep and wild and long. She’s shining in this moment, her happiness contagious. 

Behind her, Sara can almost feel the hot rush of the bulls’ breath against her legs, and she pushes herself harder. She’s heard it’s impossible to keep up with the bulls for the entire length of the run, but looking at Nyssa in all her wild joy, Sara knows that they never would have said that if they knew the Heir to the Demon. As if to prove her point, Nyssa easily evades another fallen runner by tic-tacking neatly off a wall, and jumping ahead. 

The runners they had started with have all escaped off the course or fallen behind, and they are picking up new people as they go, but Nyssa is still running at full tilt. It’s incredible to watch, as she weaves her way through the massive crowd. 

Sara feels one of the lead bulls pull up beside her, and she swats it with her newspaper. It swerves, looking for the aggressor, not realising that Sara has already put on a burst of speed and has pulled ahead. The other bulls are catching up, and some poor soul is knocked flying with the toss of a pair of very sharp horns. 

Sara can see the entrance to the bull ring, now, and the last runners on the course are streaming into it in a massive crush of human bodies. She vaults over a pile of fallen runners, right behind Nyssa who clears the pack with ease. It’s only then that Sara allows herself to feel her exhaustion, a cramp shooting jagged lines of pain up her side, and her legs wobbling so much she’s not sure if they’ll be able to hold her much longer. 

Nyssa catches her, just as she’s about to collapse, and drags her off to the side, while the matadors guide the furious bulls to their pens on the far side of the ring. Sara has never seen Nyssa smiling so big. She’s capable of so much expression in her face, but years of training have schooled it out of her, and Sara treasures the moments when Nyssa lets down her guard and lets the world (or at least Sara) see what she truly feels.

“Thank you, _habibti_ ,” she says, “that was an incredible experience.”

“Don’t thank me until I can stand on my own two feet again,” Sara answers. “You might have to carry me back to the hotel.” Nyssa’s eyes flash and darken, pupils going wide, and Sara feels an answering pull inside of her. The adrenalin of the run is still pumping furiously through her veins, and her skin feels flushed and hot, not just from the exercise, but from the way Nyssa is staring at her. She has never looked more beautiful to Sara than in this moment, with her face glowing and her breathing heavy from the run, sweaty hair sticking to her forehead and the sides of her face Sara licks her lips, almost subconsciously, and sees Nyssa bite her lower lip in response. She steadies her legs underneath her and grabs at Nyssa’s neck, pulling her close.

“This was an incredibly risky, crazy, stupid stunt we just pulled,” she says, “but I am so glad you made me do this.” She doesn’t leave Nyssa time to respond, because it is just too hard to resist kissing her even a moment longer.

Nyssa’s lips feel as soft as they always do, and Sara slips her tongue inside Nyssa’s welcoming mouth. She twines her fingers into the sweaty strands of hair at the nape of Nyssa’s neck, and winds her other hand around her waist. Nyssa likewise pulls Sara closer, kissing back fervently. She tastes slightly of honey, from the beeswax lip balm she uses and it makes Sara’s head spin the same way it did the first time they kissed in the mountains outside Nanda Parbat. She pulls Nyssa closer, forgetting the crowd, forgetting the tamer bulls that are running around the ring, forgetting everything but the feel of Nyssa’s mouth moving under hers, and Nyssa’s hands moving across her back, Nyssa’s heart beating madly against her ribs in time with Sara’s own.

One of the other runners, as high on the rush of the _encierro_ as they are, bumps into them at that moment, breaking the kiss and drawing a growl from Nyssa. His eyes go wide and he mumbles a quick _“lo siento”_ before grabbing his buddy, and getting as far away from them and the murderous look in Nyssa’s eyes as he can.

Sara laughs at the expression on Nyssa’s face and Nyssa breaks down, too, amused at the absurdity of it all. 

“Come on,” Sara says, “let’s get back to the hotel. I really, really need a shower. And maybe a coffee before the rush wears off or I think I might fall asleep right in the street.” She tangles her fingers with Nyssa’s and they duck and dodge through the gathered crowd in the bullring, and through the noise and activity of the street, to the quiet haven of their hotel room. 

Later that night, after dinner, they wander the streets of Pamplona together, watching the children run, laughing and screaming, from the _toro de fuego_. The sparks of the fireworks light up the streets, and Sara sips at her Calimocho out of a white plastic cup. 

“You are quiet, my love,” Nyssa says and squeezes Sara’s hand.

“Just thinking,” Sara says.

“About anything in particular?” Nyssa stops walking and turns to study Sara, eyebrows drawn in concern.

“Nothing to worry about, just thinking how nice this is. The two of us. No mark, no assignments, just enjoying the festival together.” _As if we were normal_ Sara thinks, but keeps it to herself. Nyssa smiles, her little soft smile that Sara has only ever seen directed at herself, and she brushes the back of her hand gently down Sara’s cheek. 

“It is nice,” she agrees and leads Sara to a bench, where they sit, Sara once again curling into Nyssa’s side, head on her shoulder. The _toro de fuego_ runs by, and one of the sparklers goes off, leaving a blazing after image against Sara’s eyelids when she closes her eyes. “Make a wish,” Nyssa says.

“That was a firework, not a shooting star,”

Nyssa shrugs. “It makes no difference to me. Make a wish,”

Sara sighs, and closes her eyes again. She has too many things she wants, and no way for them all to ever happen.

“What did you wish for?” Nyssa asks

“If I tell you, it won’t come true,” Sara answers. “Besides, I think one wish granted per day is enough.” Nyssa raises an eyebrow. Sara waves her cup around taking in the scene before them. “This, all of this. You and your crazy running with the bulls idea, the celebrations, just wandering the streets with you. All of this, this whole day has been amazing. So thank you.”

“No, _habibti_ , thank you. _Tu eres la luz en mi vida. El sol y las estrellas. Te amo, querida Sara, te amo._ ” Sara curls closer in to Nyssa, and Nyssa wraps her arm more snugly around Sara.

All around them, the festivities continue and Sara relaxes into this moment, this brief, treasured moment, when they aren’t two world class assassins, just two women in love, sitting on a bench in Spain, watching the world go by. 

**Author's Note:**

> The Spanish translations of what is written in the fic are as follows (in the order they appear):  
> "How beautiful, my love"  
> "You too, my sky*"  
> "Ready?
> 
> "To Saint Fermin we ask, being our patron saint, to guide us in the encierro (bull run) give us your blessing"
> 
> "Sorry"
> 
> Fire Bull
> 
> "You are the light in my life. The sun and stars. I love you, darling Sara, I love you."
> 
> *Sky is the literal translation of "cielo", connotatively that phrase is something more like "my darling" or "my love"


End file.
